The Murder of John Reed
by smudgen2008
Summary: A quick one shot examining the ambiguous circumstances surrounding the death of John Reed. Reviews appriciated.


**Creative response to Jane Eyre**

Moonlight bathed the raucous city, with haunting echoes of laughter bouncing through the cool, damp streets, not least of which were coming from two factory workers stumbling home after an evening of merry festivities at their local tavern. This was not an unusual journey for the pair, as they often enjoyed a drink or two after work, but as they were crossing London bridge on that mild September eve, one let out a petrified shriek, whilst the other paled and sobered.

John Reed was hanging by his collar from a lamppost midway along the bridge, an axe protruding from his skull, a river of blood flowing from the wound, causing his extremities to twitch like a possessed ghoul. His clothes were torn, hanging from his skeletal form, swaying in the wind like a blood stained flag commemorating his existence. The rhythmic spasm from his limbs caused the axe to hit the post creating a beat echoing that of his now still heart, a cry for help from his spirit begging for peace from its humiliating torture.

The persistent drumming appeared to have hypnotised the men as they just stood and stared at the horrific sight before them, apparently stunned. After several minutes one of them called for a police officer to come to try and make sense of the situation. PC Jones, a somewhat inexperienced officer, was the first to arrive on the scene; his smart, navy uniform fitting snugly to his angular form, his trousers just an inch too short giving him the unfortunate air of a lanky school boy. Jones walked with small, fast rodent like steps, his excitement tangible for his first murder. However, his enthusiasm quickly dissipated with the realisation of the grotesque scene that now lay before him.

PC Jones promptly sent the men to notify the rest of the police force quite what had been discovered, and soon the scene was a buzz with the mumblings of discontented detectives. Confusion was rife over precisely what to do, with no one willing to involve themselves with the frenzied body, as the pounding from the axe was still echoing in the night air acting as a warning to meddlers from those passed on. As a result the bridge was cordoned off, but the body was left hanging until a higher authority specifically ordered them to touch the seemingly haunted flesh.

Two hours had come to pass when Inspector Fickle, a man feared and respected by all those in the police force, but not often seen, arrived. He was wearing long, black tails and a flowing cloak, which would have given his tall frame a panther like feel had it not been for the pot belly overhanging before him, stretching the fabric of his waistcoat, giving him an air more to that of a pig. Authority oozed like sweat from the pores of his rough skin and within seconds of his arrival PC Jones updated him on the situation.

"Well sir, we appear to have a man in his early twenties brutally murdered by a blow to the head. We are in some debate as to where the crime occurred, most believe to have happened here, but I surveyed the area and there is a trail of blood over there, beside the lamppost suggesting that a coach pulled up and left the body here for people to find, but the question is why?" At the end of his speech Jones rolled onto the balls of his feet smiling, clearly proud of his detective work, as the other officers had been too repulsed to do any crime solving.

"No. This is suicide." The Inspector, a man of very few words, replied with a tone that left no room for argument.

Jones' brow furrowed in confusion, "Sir, the man has an axe protruding from his skull." He pronounced the words slowly, as if addressing an infant, unable to comprehend what the detective was claiming.

"No, it was suicide." Fickle grunted with a hint of irritation clouding his voice, drawing himself to his full height, glaring down at the young PC, "And you'll do well to remember that I have power over your career Police Constable Jones."

"Suicide, of course." Jones conceded, immediately intimidated into submission, whilst not understanding the need for deception.

"Well, if you agree that this is only a suicide then why haven't you cleaned this mess up yet?" Fickle asked with an exasperated tone, before smirking a little and winking at Jones, who squeaked and scurried into action, hastily removing the form from the post, laying it on the ground, before shouting orders to the slack-jawed force looking on in awe. The axe was soon removed from the skull and left aside whilst Jones and the other officers concentrated on covering up the decapitated body. Once Reed was taken away Jones sought out the Inspector to update him on the situation, but he was nowhere to be found, and upon closer examination, neither was the axe.


End file.
